River of Ruin

Hatcherly Consolidated Terminal Balboa, Panama

It was raining by the time Liu Yousheng’s Mercedes reached the secure warehouse, a constant pounding of water that struck the asphalt like hail. The rain looked like Christmas tinsel streaming through the coronas cast by the tall gantry lights and exploded into steam when it touched the hot bulbs. The luxury car twisted around the line of dump trucks and threaded between containers and the pile of gravel, stopping next to the armored car now resting low on its suspension because of its golden cargo. Liu didn’t wait for his chauffeur to open his door.

As a result of a life of near constant work and stress, Liu was thin, almost gaunt, with deep-set eyes ringed perpetually by bruise-dark circles. He appeared older than his thirty-eight years. Not only was his face more matured, worn almost, but he possessed an intensity that seemed to infect those around him and was found in only a few leaders who’d weathered most of life’s storms. He also radiated a decisive energy, an unflagging stamina to keep fighting long after others would have surrendered. He enjoyed a position of wealth and power and worked tirelessly for more.

Greed was not a motivation to Liu Yousheng, and he’d faced down that accusation in countless business magazines. His sole interest was success, the never-ending quest to pit his wits against the global economy and come out on top. Business was more than warfare, he’d once been quoted as saying. Wars were fought between two adversaries while business was a struggle between the individual and everything else. Unlike in war, business alliances lasted only so long as profits were made. Stagger once and the corpse of your company was picked over like carrion before jackals. The other difference he’d pointed out was that all wars eventually came to an end. By definition, commerce, the continuous trade of goods and services, would go on forever.

He stepped from the Mercedes limousine, his face unreadable as he studied the ring of men near the armored car. What remained of the soldier who’d killed himself with his own grenade was an irregular red stain on the concrete floor. Liu hungered for a cigarette but had recently quit. In the wake of nicotine withdrawal he had a nervous tick of blowing on the fingertips of his right hand like a safecracker about to attempt a difficult lock.

At five feet ten inches, he was taller than all the men with the exception of Sergeant Huai and a few of his troops. Yet his slender build and hatchet-thin face made him look smaller, frailer, like a gangly teen around adults. None, however, could match his severity, nor could they avoid the palpable tension coiled within him. As his eyes swept the apologetic faces of the guards, each physically recoiled from the deep-seeing stare, casting their glances anywhere but at their leader. Liu’s eyes finally settled on Captain Chen Tai Fat, who was in overall command of the Sword of South China Special Forces detachment and whose primary responsibility was maintaining security at the warehouse.

Chen was a career officer, competent and professional, but like so many in the People’s Liberation Army, he’d achieved rank as much through nepotism as by ability. His father was a general in the air force, and had Chen’s vision not been less than perfect he’d be flying fighter jets out of Hainan Island. Liu didn’t blame Chen for his birth. He himself had benefited from the accomplishments of his family in a lineage that dated back to Chairman Mao’s famous Long March. What Liu couldn’t forgive was ineptitude.

Standing ramrod straight, Chen waited for what he knew was coming, a dressing down he fully deserved. Thieves had breached his perimeter, and while their attempt to steal anything from the port had been thwarted, he was responsible for the security lapse.

Liu Yousheng blew on his fingers as if they’d been singed. “You said when you phoned my home that the thieves escaped with the aid of missile fire from outside the fence,” he began, and Captain Chen nodded. “And yet you still think they are nothing more than a rabble looking to swipe electronics from a couple of containers?”

Chen blinked, not expecting Liu’s question to come so soft-spoken. “Their weaponry indicates a certain sophistication, sir, but Panama is awash in such weapons—surplus arms from the Contras and Sandanistas on their way to FARC and ELF rebels in Colombia. Rocket-propelled grenades are as common as prostitutes here and cheaper to buy.”

Liu glanced at Sergeant Huai for confirmation. The old soldier dipped his eyes in agreement. Liu continued in a mild tone while menace was building in his expression, “So common thieves have automatic weapons and rocket grenades? Interesting. And how do common thieves know to come into this particular warehouse at this particular time?”

Chen had a ready answer. “Despite our precautions, the Panamanian dock workers all knew that something would be happening in here. Our increased security was a sure tip-off. One of them could have let it slip or could even be working with the thieves.”

“Is there any evidence that we were so betrayed?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you started an investigation?”

“As soon as the thieves made their escape, I had the harbor shut down. All employees are being questioned right now.”

“In your estimation, how much of our activities did these thieves see?”

Chen considered dodging the question but too many soldiers had been in the warehouse and he couldn’t count on them to maintain his ruse if he lied. It was not lost on him that they showed more deference to Sergeant Huai than himself, and because of COSTIND’s dual nature, Liu did hold the rank of colonel in the PLA even if he never wore his uniform. “It is possible they saw a portion of the gold, sir.”

“Close enough to see the seals stamped on it?”

“No, sir. They were on the second-floor storage area. Too far away and the angle was wrong for them to get a good look.”

Liu turned to Huai. “Is this true?”

“I was checking the perimeter fence when the firefight took place but my men agree. The gold was under cover except when one of your assistants pulled the cloth from one bar. The robbers were too far away to see the stamp.”

Turning slightly to regard the two suited men who’d been overseeing the transfer, Liu’s dark eyes silently asked the question of who looked at one of the gold ingots. Both men paled under the scrutiny and many seconds passed before one of the men pushed the other forward. “It was Ping, Mr. Liu.”

“How about it, Ping?” Liu asked affably, the menace suddenly gone from his bearing. “Did you sneak a peek at my gold?”

The young junior executive couldn’t muster enough saliva to respond. He nodded sharply, keeping his head down in supplication.

Liu laughed softly. “Don’t worry about it, Ping. In your position I’d be tempted to want to see it too. One rarely gets the chance to gaze upon forty million dollars.”

Ping looked up, a small smile forming at the corners of his mouth. That was how he saw the discreet signal flash from his boss to the commando sergeant.

Huai pulled his sidearm and fired with the weapon still at the level of his waist. The bullet hit square on Ping’s right kneecap. As he buckled, Huai fired again and the other knee shattered in a cloud of blood and bone chips. The junior executive sprawled awkwardly on the concrete, screaming at the unbelievable agony until his body overwhelmed his brain’s ability to deal with the pain and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Liu gave the other executive a speculative look, and was satisfied that he’d made his point when a wet stain bloomed at the man’s groin.

“Lest you forget that this is a military operation and I will not tolerate mistakes, let Ping’s punishment be a reminder.” Liu’s voice encompassed all those assembled. “We aren’t in Hong Kong or Shanghai. We are in a country that until a few years ago was America’s puppet. Because the Panamanians have only recently gained their freedom from the United States’ imperialism, they are wary of any outsider, especially us. Panama is a Catholic country whose citizens see communism as an affront to their God. Our investments in Panama’s infrastructure are welcome. We are not.

“I have designed Operation Red Island to keep our actual involvement to a minimum for this very reason. One slip, one whispered rumor about what is happening and the people will take to the streets. It’s something they love to do. Omar Quintero is this country’s most unpopular president since Noriega. Until he can better consolidate his power base it won’t take much to push this country into chaos. Captain Chen?”

Chen stepped forward. “Sir.”

“You see what happened to a man who took an unauthorized look at the gold. I want even worse to happen to the thieves.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sergeant Huai, what about the American from Paris who turned up at Gary Barber’s river camp? Mercer?”

“We lost him after he left the restaurant last night because those drunken tourists rammed our car, but he was spotted at the airport late this morning boarding a flight to Miami. If you still want the journal he bought we will have to dispatch a team to the States.”

Liu considered the proposal. “That won’t be necessary. We have enough old manuscripts to legitimize our discovery if someone ever wonders how we found the treasure. The one he bought is of no consequence.” Hatcherly’s director in Panama moved back toward his car. “Just in case Captain Chen fails to find our thieves, I want the gold out of this warehouse immediately and everything else cleared within forty-eight hours.”

Chen opened his mouth to voice an opinion but Liu cut him off. “I’m well aware of our transport guidelines. What can’t be removed from this building in two days should be stored in another location at the terminal until you can get it out. Don’t violate the guidelines but don’t leave anything in here either.”

“Yes, sir.”

Settled in the back of the Mercedes, Liu Yousheng dug around the mini-bar until he found a container of antacid liquid. He took three heavy swallows, wincing as his stomach gave one more volcanic heave. Thirty-eight was too young for an ulcer, he thought. But thirty-eight was also too young for this kind of responsibility. As he liked to do when the pain was bad, he mentally drew out the flowchart of power within Hatcherly. He enjoyed reviewing the incremental steps he’d climbed. The only people ahead of him now were the president of the entire HatchCo conglomerate, Deng Hui. Then came General Yu, the man who controlled all of COSTIND. Yu’s only superior was the defense minister in Beijing, and at the top of the pyramid was China’s president. Liu had already climbed twenty positions and had only four more to go. If he pulled off Red Island, he was assured the presidency of Hatcherly Consolidated. They’d have to make him a secret general for that, moving him that much closer to the chairmanship of the Commission on Science, Technology and Industry for National Defense. He estimated that it would take only two years to move up from COSTIND to the defense ministry.

The pain in his stomach subsided.

He regretted crippling Ping. Shattering the junior executive’s legs was far too harsh a punishment for his error in judgment. A simple reprimand would have sufficed. Liu had done it as a demonstration to the rest of the men rather than retribution for a stupid mistake. If anyone should have suffered, it was Chen for letting the thieves into the container port in the first place. Being forced to use Panamanian troops at the outer perimeter to keep Hatcherly’s local partners happy was no excuse for the would-be burglars getting into the warehouse.

There were no critical junctures to Operation Red Island because every phase was equally important. Now that Liu’s forces were taking more active roles, he couldn’t afford inattention. Ping’s mutilation was a reminder.

He had to maintain control and discipline, and make sure everything stayed on its tight schedule. Any delay could lead to Beijing pulling out of the entire operation. Red Island had been a gamble that few in the highest echelons of the government believed in. They had only allowed themselves to be persuaded to authorize it because Liu had ensured there would be no downside. He could feel the pressure mounting. The gold would last only so long.

The limo dropped into a pothole and Liu cursed. He wasn’t a xenophobe or even a racist, but he had learned to hate all things Panamanian in his months here. From the constant rain that left oppressive humidity when it cleared, to food that made his ulcer roil, to the grubbing bureaucrats who were never satisfied with their bribes, Liu hated it all. But he despised the people most.

Had it not been for the United States’ desire to build the canal, Panama would still be a backwater province of Colombia. The Americans had literally created the country from nothing. Theodore Roosevelt had defended their staged revolt from Colombia with gunboats, and had recognized the fledgling nation even as the ink was drying on their constitution. Since that time the United States had poured in billions of dollars, making Panama a true cross-roads of commerce. Granted, Liu could understand the people’s frustration at being treated as second-class citizens by the gringos, but second class to the most powerful nation in the hemisphere was better than first class in a Third World cesspool. And it was inevitable that Panama would slip that way again.

Singapore was the only country near the equator with a decent standard of living; all others had succumbed to a tropical malaise that left them far behind the industrial world. Liu understood that dozens of factors conspired to make this happen, but the reason he most believed was that the tropics bred laziness. The approach of winter in northern latitudes had created urgency in farmers to plant and harvest in a desperate race to beat the first frost. This work ethic had carried forward into the industrial age and created the prosperity found in Europe, America, Japan, Australia and parts of northern China.

In contrast, the belt surrounding the equator never had such urgency. Dry seasons provided a similar bounty to the rainy ones. There was never a compelling reason to rush. And this too had spilled over into the industrial age. There was no pressure to complete a project because the next day would be the same as the last. Liu didn’t blame the people for how their societies evolved, but he hated that they resisted adapting to northern ways. They expected the world to adjust to their schedule. Bankers in Panama City felt nothing when they made clients wait for hours while they lingered over lunches or mistresses. Such laxity seemed to be endemic and he feared that his own people were being infected. Back home, Ping would have never dared look at the gold.

He felt certain that tonight’s demonstration would buy him a few more weeks of commitment. That would be all the time he needed.

The safe house was located in a quiet neighborhood to the north of Panama City. The building was an indistinguishable one-story cement bungalow with small windows framed in pitted aluminum and a low pitched roof with a long overhang to keep rain from the single door. The rest of the homes on the street were identical with the exception of owners’ tastes in pastel paint. The safe house was a faded pink.

Rene Bruneseau had refused to answer any of Mercer’s questions until they were in the building, but that didn’t stop Mercer from figuring out a few things on his own. One was that Bruneseau worked for one of France’s spy agencies, most likely the DGSE. How else could he explain the presence of the Foreign Legion troops?

Disjointed by the turn of events, Mercer needed to take a measure of control if he was going to reestablish his equilibrium. That was why as soon as the blocky Frenchman turned to face him from across the threshold, Mercer fired a punch to Bruneseau’s unshaven jaw that sent the larger man first into the open door and then onto the floor.

“That’s for nearly getting me killed in Paris,” Mercer hissed, his pistol magically in his hand. He held his aim steady on the Foreign Legion soldier who was closest to him. “This isn’t your fight,” he warned.

From the threadbare carpet, Rene glared for a moment and then nodded, tension running from his body. He made a gesture to his soldiers to back off. “I suppose I deserved that, Dr. Mercer.” He heaved himself to his feet, cracking his jaw to the side. “Nice punch. Your friend Jean-Paul Derosier said I shouldn’t underestimate you. I think he doesn’t know the half of it. But instead of blaming me, you should thank me for saving your ass twice in two days. Tonight at HatchCo and the night before when two of Hatcherly’s pet Dingbats trailed you from the Japanese restaurant.”

Still reeling from Bruneseau’s rescue, Mercer could only return a blank look.

“Did you think they wouldn’t have you under observation?” the Frenchman continued. “Liu’s people have known every move you’ve made since your arrival in Panama. He’s built a hell of a network in a very short time. But so have I. Remember your dinner companions?”

“The German guys at our grill table?”

“The beauty of the Legion, no? Men from all over the world. They’re some of the troops who pulled off your extraction tonight.”

“Who’s German?” Lauren asked, having just ducked under the curtain of rain falling from the eaves. She hadn’t seen the exchange.

“No one, Captain Vanik,” Bruneseau replied. “An earlier misunderstanding.”

She caught Mercer’s eye and saw he was as much adrift as she felt. The after-action adrenaline hangover and the surprise that French spies were operating in Panama left her shaky. She’d hoped that Mercer could anchor her and sensed for a while that he could not. Bruneseau led them into a cramped living room stripped of everything but a pair of couches and the dirt outline of a crucifix that had once adorned a wall. A coffee table sat between the couches. The ashtrays littering it overflowed. A soldier came in from the kitchen with a box of cold beer bottles and set six of them on the table before retreating to a back bedroom for their debrief. Mercer and Lauren were left alone with Rene Bruneseau.

The spy used a Swiss Army knife to open three of the beers and passed over two. “Okay, to answer your accusation—yes, I did set you up in Paris with Jean Derosier’s help. Do not blame him. My government didn’t leave him much choice.”

“You wanted to flush out whoever was buying up all the Panama diaries?” Mercer already knew the answer and only wanted confirmation.

“That’s right.”

“But why?” Lauren asked. “What’s your interest?”

“To put it frankly, Captain”—Bruneseau lit a cigarette and held it in the underhanded French fashion—“because your country no longer shows any interest, despite evidence that the People’s Republic of China is buying up huge chunks of Panama and will very likely have control of the canal within a year.”

Lauren wasn’t satisfied with the answer even though she knew it to be true. “Again, what is France’s interest?”

Bruneseau suddenly looked at her with renewed interest, as if she’d just passed some unwritten test. He inclined his head in admiration. “Very good, Captain. I think our friend Mercer here would have left it at that, but you want more. Why is that?”

“Because France has never shown any interest in Central America, nor have you ever seemed particularly alarmed at China’s recent geopolitical growth. And finally because few French ships transit the canal and very little of your GDP depends on raw materials that pass through here. Your geography insulates you from what happens in Panama.”

“Meanwhile,” Bruneseau cut in, “America accounts for sixty to eighty percent of all goods that move through the canal and yet you dismantled your presence here. Actually you abandoned it, leaving behind about three billion dollars in assets, including a rather sophisticated antenna array and listening station atop Ancon Hill.”

Understanding dawned on her. “Ariane.”

Rene toasted her with his beer. “Since I didn’t say it first, I suppose it’s all right if I said yes.” He glanced at Mercer. “Do you understand what we are talking about?”

The Frenchman wanted to treat Mercer like a fool, revenge perhaps for the sucker punch. Mercer wasn’t going to play his game. “Because the European Space Agency launches their Ariane rockets from Kourou, Guyana, in South America, you see a Chinese listening post in Panama as a potential threat.”

“Wouldn’t you? Not all of what Ariane does is civilian and a great deal can be learned of our capabilities with a tracking station that can intercept our rocket’s radio instructions.”

“So France is finally willing to stand on the wall to guard against China’s growing influence.” An angry flush had risen on Lauren’s face. “About damned time some of our allies saw what was happening.”

Bruneseau let the insult pass, watching Mercer’s reaction.

Mercer had yet to respond to this explanation because it seemed off somehow. Until he and Lauren could speak alone, he let it pass. “How does all this involve me?”

“To answer that I need to explain a few things. In the years since your country turned over the canal, Panama has been bought up bit by bit. It started small, a few businesses, a couple of deals, but the pace has accelerated. The principle telecommunications company recently sold a forty percent stake to a Chinese firm. Only Chinese companies are given mineral exploration rights. An American railroad corporation was forced out of their ownership of the trans-isthmus line by Hatcherly Consolidated, who are also about to complete an oil pipeline that runs from coast to coast. Hatcherly has even muscled a quasi-legitimate Hong Kong firm for control of one-third of the Balboa container port.”

“Quasi-legitimate?”

“The company’s called Hutchinson Wampoa. There are unsubstantiated rumors that they are controlled by the government in Beijing. Who knows? However, there are no such rumors about Hatcherly. Their ties to COSTIND, and thus China’s military, are well documented. Another fact not in dispute is when mainland companies invest in a country, those nations soon switch their diplomatic recognition away from Taiwan in favor of the communists.”

“You see that happening here?” Mercer asked.

“Never would have happened under former president Ochoa. He was a rabid anti-communist. No one is sure about Quintero because no one knows who really engineered his suspicious election. We can’t ignore that the promise of free markets hasn’t reached the poorest and most disenfranchised and that Marxism is on the rise in Latin America all over again because of this. Perhaps Quintero may yet lean that way.”

“So you’ve established that China is showing a lot of interest in Panama and that the United States has done very little about it. That still doesn’t explain why you involved me.”

“Because for months I never knew who was pulling the strings here. Up until Hutchinson Wampoa was forced to give up part of their harbor, I thought they were behind the systematic expansion. Afterward I realized it was Hatcherly. Liu Yousheng is China’s point man.”

“So you concentrated your investigation on him?”

“Precisely. By the time I knew it was Liu, he’d already made overtures to buy the journals from the family who owned them, just weeks before the auction. We had to scramble, which was why the operation in Paris got away from us. We had to get Hatcherly to show themselves in such a way to start an aboveboard criminal investigation, trapping Liu’s agents in France as a way of exposing him in Panama.”

“Using me as bait.”

“Monsieur Derosier said you could look after yourself. Also we had agents at the gallery and at the Crillon Hotel where he said you normally stay. When you told Derosier that you had different lodging, the best I could do was follow you.”

“When the punk tried to steal the journal you knew it was Liu’s men making their move.”

“Correct. I also didn’t think you’d catch him so I shot him.” That answered one of the many questions that had dogged Mercer since that night. But still dozens more swirled in his head. Bruneseau continued, “Before we could secure the area, you’d ducked into the catacombs trailed by the Chinese assassins. I wasn’t aware that you’d survived the sewers until your name was flagged at Charles de Gaulle airport when you left France. I assume the gunmen are ... ?”

“Down the drain.” Mercer’s deadpan joke was lost on the spy. “How did you know those men came from Liu and Hatcherly?”

“Because we’d followed them from Panama. Liu’s interest in old journals and diaries was something we couldn’t explain. It was an anomaly in his actions that we felt was somehow important. Honestly it was just a guess since all other attempts to infiltrate his empire have been disasters.”

“Are the journals important?” Lauren asked.

Bruneseau gave a Gallic shrug. “We don’t know why he wanted them or what he’s done with the ones he bought. Like I said, his organization has proved to be impenetrable.”

“Not exactly,” Mercer said, rubbing in the fact that he and Lauren had gotten in.

The Frenchman’s voice darkened. “We managed to get two men into the terminal two weeks ago. One’s corpse was fished out of Lake Gatun by a sightseeing boat and we think the other had already washed into the Pacific. We’ve kept their facility under observation, which was why we were there tonight to rescue you. I still don’t know how you managed to get in.”

“Locked ourselves in a container at the rail yard in Cristobal and had an inside man let us out when the train reached the port.”

“Clever,” Rene replied after a moment’s consideration. “And what did you learn?”

“Not so fast,” Mercer said. “You still have a lot to answer for. You explained how you used me in Paris, but not why. Why me and not one of your own people?”

“We didn’t have time to establish a legitimate cover, and in discussions with Derosier he mentioned that you would be there to buy the Lepinay journal for a friend already in Panama, a Mr. Gary Barber.”

“Who you know is dead?”

“Yes, we understand you discovered his body and helped organize his funeral.”

That statement told Mercer that Bruneseau didn’t have all the answers he thought he did. He hadn’t been at the funeral, but the agent would have thought so if his dinner conversation with Maria Barber had been overheard. Which the spy had already admitted had happened. He realized that the French had certain pieces of the puzzle and he and Lauren had others. He had to decide if he wanted to share, and to do that he had to slough off his feelings over how he’d been treated. Mercer wanted nothing more than to tell the spy to screw himself and walk out the door, but his heart told him that getting to the bottom of Gary’s death was more important than his anger.

He and Lauren exchanged a silent glance. The brief moment their eyes locked asked and answered the question of trust. They didn’t have a choice. “I lied at dinner,” Mercer said. “I never went to the funeral. Lauren and I were trapped on a lake above Gary’s camp by a helicopter belonging to Hatcherly Consolidated.”

It was gratifying to see he could unsettle the Frenchman. Bruneseau shouted to the back room. “Foch, get in here!” A few seconds later one of the Legionnaire commandos entered. He was a little older than the others Mercer had seen, and while he wore no rank on his black uniform, Mercer guessed he was the officer in charge of the detachment. He had sandy hair and watchful blue eyes, and a European kind of good looks that better suited a model than a soldier. “Lieutenant Foch, this is Dr. Mercer and Captain Vanik of the U.S. Army. Foch is my number-two man. Tell us exactly what happened at the lake.”

Mercer hesitated, wondering if telling them everything was the right thing, and then he plunged in, recounting the entire story from his arrival in Panama to the discovery of the gold bars in the Hatcherly warehouse and how they assumed they were part of the Twice-Stolen Treasure. Lauren added a few details he’d forgotten. By some unspoken agreement neither mentioned Roddy Herrara or Harry White.

“Can you use the agent at the port again?” Lieutenant Foch asked when the story was done.

“No,” Mercer said at once. “For one thing I won’t risk him, and after tonight whatever Hatcherly’s hiding will be gone. There’s no reason to reenter the facility.”

“You think we should track the gold?” Bruneseau was into his fourth cigarette.

“If Hatcherly has an Achilles’ heel in Panama, it’s that. I think whatever they’re up to here revolves around the treasure. Checking out the lake again is an obvious place to take up the chase. I haven’t had a chance to read the Lepinay journal but it’s clear Liu believes something in it is important.”

“You have the journal with you?” Foch asked.

“It’s in my hotel. I can get it anytime.”

“No, you can’t,” Bruneseau said. “You left Panama this morning.”

The statement was baffling. “Excuse me?”

“After some of my men derailed the ex-Dingbats following you out of the restaurant by smashing into their car, I had a soldier who resembles you take a flight to Miami once he was certain he was being followed by Liu’s people. We weren’t the only people eavesdropping on your conversation. They picked up his trail near where you told Maria Barber you were staying at a hostel.” Rene shifted in his seat. “Also, I read the journal in Paris before Derosier turned it over to you. There’s nothing in it.”

Impressed by the French agent’s thoroughness, Mercer still scoffed at this final pronouncement. “And how exactly do you know that? Do you have an engineering background? Geology? Hell, do you even know who Godin de Lepinay was?” Bruneseau’s silence was Mercer’s answer. “I didn’t think so.”

Foch tensed at Mercer’s tone while Bruneseau remained impassive. A silent minute passed before the spy cleared his throat and leaned forward. “You believe there may be something in the journal I missed?”

“I’m saying it’s possible.”

“Are you willing to share whatever you learn from it?”

“If you’re willing to back me up when I return to the lake.”

“When we return to the lake.” Lauren touched Mercer’s leg in a gesture of solidarity.

“I suppose I owe you,” Rene said with an undercurrent of resignation in his voice. His investigation into Hatcherly had gone nowhere and Mercer was offering a new way to restart it. “I can’t pull too many men away from Hatcherly’s container port so I will give you two plus Foch and myself.”

Mercer nodded. “Fair enough. When?”

“We can leave tomorrow afternoon. You two can spend the night here.”

Mercer whispered to Lauren if she had a cell phone on her. She said it was at home. “I’ve got some things to take care of first,” he said to Rene. “We’ll meet back here at noon.”

“You can’t return to the Caesar Park Hotel. Liu’s people may think you’ve left Panama but it’s an unnecessary risk returning to such a public place.”

“We’ll sleep at Lauren’s apartment.” It was the first she’d heard of this and her eyes widened.

“Okay. As far as we know, Liu isn’t aware of her involvement. It should be safe. One of my men will drive you over and pick you up at noon.”

“Until tomorrow, then.” Mercer stood. He was filled with an urgency that hadn’t been there only moments before, buoyed by a sudden inspiration that he needed to check out.

Forty minutes later, Lauren twisted the key into the lock of her apartment, located in a high-rise building that overlooked the Bay of Panama. Since the government paid the rent, her apartment was on a lower floor and the windows faced landward.

“Are you going to tell me why you needed a phone?” she asked.

“In a minute.” Mercer went straight to her telephone and dialed the Caesar Park, asking the operator to connect him to Harry’s room. As he waited, he studied Lauren’s living room. The furniture looked like it came with the place and Lauren had put out only a few personal items, family photos mostly, including one of her in scuba gear wearing a one-piece swimsuit that showed the muscular curves of her body. He turned from the picture before she saw his interest. Harry picked up on the fifth ring. “How’d it go?”

“You were supposed to wait by the phone for my call,” Mercer complained.

“I was in the crapper. Food down here is killing me, I think my assho—”

Mercer cut him off before Harry could get any more graphic. “I get the picture.”

“So how did it go?”

Sketching out the details, Mercer summed up by asking if Harry and Roddy were willing to do a little work.

“Whatcha got in mind?”

“The dump trucks. The armored car is long gone, I’m sure, but I want you and Roddy to follow one of the dump trucks. Their presence at the port doesn’t make any sense and I think they’re connected somehow.”

“Roddy’s here right now and his car’s down in the hotel garage. We’re on it.”

“Before you leave, check out of the Caesar Park and find another hotel.”

“Why? I like it here. This place is a palace and I must say it suits me.”

Mercer laughed. “Hate to tell you this, pal, but you’re even outclassed by a roach motel. It’s obvious that both the Frogs and Liu Yousheng have been watching me because my dinner with Gary’s wife turned into a spectator sport. Yet somehow neither group knows about you and Roddy and I want to keep it that way.”

“So I’m going to be the ace in the hole, huh?” Harry liked the idea.

“It’s a step up from your normal role of a drunk in the gutter.”

“Hey, I only passed out in the gutter that one time coming back from Tiny’s,” Harry protested. “Do you have to keep bringing it up?”

“Payback for the thing at the hospital.”

“Then we’re even?”

“Not even close,” Mercer said with a grin, hanging up after Harry said he’d move in with Roddy’s family for a few days. He’d keep the journal until after Mercer came back from the River of Ruin.

“ ‘A drunk in the gutter,’ what is it with you two? Are you ever nice to each other?”

“That was being nice.” Mercer sank onto Lauren’s couch with an exhausted sigh. “Now you know why I wanted to make the call away from the safe house?”

“You didn’t want Bruneseau overhearing. You don’t trust him?”

“There aren’t too many spies I do trust. Present company excluded. Once we reach the lake and I’ve got evidence that Hatcherly is plundering a Panamanian archeological site I don’t want anything to do with him. And as far as China taking the canal? It was a mistake years ago for the U.S. to give it away so I couldn’t care less what happens to it now.”

“Bullshit!” Lauren spat, not letting his lie hang in the air for even a second. Mercer cocked an eyebrow, secretly pleased that she had seen through him. “I’ve been watching you for the past few days,” she went on, “and I think I know what makes you tick. Bruneseau has dangled another challenge in front of us and you can’t wait to take it up.”

“Am I that obvious?” Mercer smiled at her fury.

“Why else would you have sent Harry after those dump trucks? You’ve already guessed Hatcherly is up to something beyond gold smuggling. You said that crap about not caring what happens to the canal because you want to drop me the same way you’re going to drop Bruneseau.”

“This isn’t your fight,” Mercer said seriously.

“Don’t try to push me aside because I’m a woman,” she returned hotly. Unlike many women who mask their sexuality by defensively crossing their arms over their breasts, Lauren stood with her hands on her hips, her chest out proudly. “This is as much my fight as yours.”

“I want to keep you out because you are a commissioned officer in the United States Army who could lose everything by helping me.” Mercer raised his own voice to match hers. “Not because you’re a woman. I’m trying to protect your career, not your gender.”

Lauren glowered then suddenly backed down because she saw that he wasn’t lying. Mercer wasn’t the type to step over the line between chivalry and chauvinism. Her voice softened. “Thank you for that, but it’s my career. Besides, I have a secret weapon to get me out of hot water with the army.” She paused, a little embarrassed. “My father is a general.”

The admission came as a surprise, as were the implications. He couldn’t resist teasing her. “And you’re not above crying, Daaaddyyyy!”

She bristled, having spent her career dodging rumors that her father had paved the way for her promotions. Knowing it wasn’t true and with nothing to prove, she had still taken tough postings to stifle her detractors, deliberately staying away from duties that would have fast-tracked promotion. It rankled that she’d been forced to sabotage her own career because her father happened to be a general.

Then she saw that Mercer wasn’t serious, and couldn’t possibly know what was said behind her back. Her expression turned sheepish. “I’ve never needed to but the option’s always open. And if you repeat that to anyone you’ll be digesting your teeth.”

Mercer realized he’d hit a sore spot. He could imagine the hell she’d gone through being the daughter of a general, like being a student in a school where a parent was the principal. Only this wasn’t school. This was her entire life. He wished he’d held his tongue. “Deal.”

Lauren nodded and something silent passed between them. She knew one of his deepest secrets and now he knew the root of her pain. It was more than either expected to share and yet they had. She turned away before she blushed. “Give me fifteen minutes in the shower and the bathroom’s yours. I think I’ve got a couple beers in the fridge if you want one.”

The sting of the shower slowly washed away the exhaustion that cramped her muscles and caused her joints to stiffen. She luxuriated under the spray, soaping and rinsing her entire body twice and digging her fingers through her hair until her scalp went numb. Even as her entire being craved sleep, she thought about the man in the other room. He was unlike anyone she’d met before. Handsome, yes, but that wasn’t what she found so compelling. It was the way others listened to him. People sensed his confidence and responded automatically. Bruneseau was a trained spy but by the end of their talk he was taking orders from Mercer, a geologist. Her father was a little like that.

Where’d that thought come from? Stop it, Lauren, she chided herself, thinking a Freudian would be having a field day with that idea.

She recalled the way he’d looked at the picture of her in a bathing suit and how she’d liked how it made her feel. With a quick gesture, she twisted the tap to cold, and the thermal shock on her skin scattered any further thoughts in that direction.

By the time she had toweled off and stepped from the bathroom to tell Mercer the shower was his, he was asleep on the couch, still smelling of sweat and combat. Lauren pulled a spare blanket from a linen closet and draped it over him. Even in sleep his jaw was firm. She resisted the urge to touch his face, to feel the rasp of his thirty-hour beard. She killed the lights and went to her own bed.